The Last Time We Met
by Hayley1
Summary: The Wizarding World is on the brink of another war. Two students have ten secret meetings, trying to forget everything that’s going on in the world around them. Is love really enough to overcome reality?


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related subjects/characters belong to JK Rowling.  
  
A/N: I wanted to experiment with a new writing style, and this is the result. I didn't even actually come out and say who these two people are, although it shouldn't be hard to guess. I originally meant for it to not be clear who the couple was, but I was having trouble with not being able to make it long or vague enough. *ashamed* Oh well, there's always next time, I suppose.  
  
The first time we met, you dropped a note beside me. We'd seen each other before, of course. We'd exchanged barbs, and not exactly good-naturedly. The note just said, in your all too elegant writing, a time and a place. I burned the note by the fire later, as I pondered whether to go and meet you. I never knew why you gave me the note. Did it ever occur to you that I might not come? I doubt it. But I did come. I'm not sure why, but I did. That was the first time we really talked to each other. But that night, we didn't do much talking.  
  
The second time we met, you said you couldn't make any promises. You said that I couldn't try to change you, because you had already made up your mind. I said I didn't want to change you. I said I would take all the time we had and then we would both go on with our lives. It was a lie. I wanted to change you. I wanted promises. You knew it was a lie. I think I would have said anything to get you to kiss me.  
  
The third time we met, you were surprised that I didn't mind keeping us a secret. Of course I would have loved to tell everyone about us. I could have brought you home for dinner and my family would have hated you. I would have made them be civil while you were there, but after you left they would have lectured me for hours. I wouldn't have cared. But the world was at war. I understood all too well the need for secrecy. If people found out, we'd probably both be dead within a week. That night I thought that that might be preferable to the silent and lonely hell I would face when you left. But I tried not to think about that.  
  
The fourth time we met, you must have been thinking along the same lines as me, because you asked me to Hogsmeade with you. We knew it was dangerous. Too risky. But everything was risky those days. And so we went, flaunting whatever it was we were to each other. Daring someone to catch us. And they almost did. We were hanging off of each other, visiting all the usual places. Everyone from school stared at us, and we would have stared back if we weren't so engrossed in the other. Everything was fine until we exited the Three Broomsticks. Your father was in Hogsmeade that day. You pulled me into an alley, pushed me up against the cold, concrete wall and kissed me. Your father must have looked right at us, but he didn't notice you. I suppose it was dark, or perhaps he never imagined that you would be doing something like that. I heard him make some sneering comment about poor breeding and the man he was with laughed. I would have giggled at that in another circumstance. As it was, I was much too preoccupied with your touch to care. Later, someone asked me why I'd been walking with you in Hogsmeade. It doesn't matter who. Back then, nothing mattered except the two of us. I thought about telling her that we'd been meeting secretly for weeks. But after the close call we'd had, I couldn't bring myself to do it. While I may have dreaded what was going to happen later, I couldn't risk losing the short time we had together. Instead, I shrugged and said I hadn't been to Hogsmeade. She must have mistaken me for someone else. Everyone saw us there, though. We both got post from our parents the next day. They would have sent howlers, but they didn't want to risk anyone else hearing about it that hadn't already. My parents hadn't believed a word of it. They just needed me to say it wasn't true and they would never mention it again. I owled them and promised it was only a rumour. Your parents assumed it was true and demanded an explanation. I figured the letter you sent back was sarcastic and derogatory enough that they discounted it as hearsay. That was the first time I had lied to my parents. I didn't care.  
  
The fifth time we met, I asked if you loved me. You didn't want to talk. You said that even if you did love me, it wouldn't change anything. I said that I needed to know. You asked why people like me cared so much about love. It only caused pain, you said. I just told you to answer the question. You said yes.  
  
The sixth time we met, I asked you if you were afraid of dying. By that time, war was escalating. I knew I'd be dragged into it once I was out of school. I thought about death all the time, unless I was with you. It wasn't death itself that scared me. Somehow I felt that if we both died, and no one knew about us, then it wasn't really real. I wanted people to know that I loved you. I didn't fear death because I knew that we would be together. You promised me that just because no one knew, that didn't make what we had unreal. You told me you weren't afraid of dying. You lived your life everyday, and it didn't make any sense to fear something you couldn't control. I asked you if you had any regrets. You said no.  
  
The seventh time we met, you were nervous because I was late meeting you. I had been stopped by Snape on the way. He saw us in Hogsmeade. He had told me to not go up to see you. Not that night, or ever. I had told him that you were a good person, and I trusted you. He had said that you were also a stubborn idiot that was going to get me killed. That if anyone else found out about us, I would be killed. You looked at me and said that Snape was probably right. If He found out, he'd make you kill me. Now, I was the one who didn't want to talk.  
  
The eighth time we met, you told me that He knew. You were leaving Hogwarts for good. It was safer. Even though we both figured this moment would come, neither of us was really prepared for it. If we had been, we would have been more careful. Why weren't we more careful? I cried, then. Begged you not to go. Not yet. I would have said then that your heart was breaking. But perhaps you just didn't like to see anybody cry. In any case, you agreed to stay for another week. In hindsight, maybe things would have just worked out better for both of us if you had left right away.  
  
The ninth time we met, you gave me a ring. To remember you by, you said. I laughed, if only for a moment. It was the first time I remembered laughing in a long time that didn't sound forced, even to my ears. That ring was the first crack I'd ever seen in your self-assured shell. As if I could ever forget you.  
  
The tenth time we met, we fought. We had never fought before. I told you not to leave. You said you had to. I said that if you loved me, you would stay. You said you told me you couldn't promise anything. I shouted that everyone could choose their own path. You looked at me calmly and said you'd chosen yours. You kissed me fiercely, knowing that it would be the last time we'd meet without the barriers of good and evil.  
  
The eleventh time we met, you wore a mask. I'd like to hope that you were crying behind that mask. That what was happening was tearing you up inside. I think maybe it was. You did tell me that you loved me. And whatever else horrible things you've done, I don't think that you ever lied to me. I was sure that if you took off the mask and I looked straight into your eyes, I'd be able to convince you that this was wrong. And you would stop. But you didn't take the mask off.  
  
It was the last time we met.  
  
A/N: What does it say about me that I can't write anything cheerful? I almost wanted to have a happy ending with this one, but I wrote the end before anything else, and it all just took shape from there. I was working on a general plotline for my extension to United, but this idea just hit me one night and it wouldn't leave me alone. It was definitely the hardest piece I've written to date. Please review, as I'm very curious about what people thought about the format of it. 


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